


Dormire et Excitare

by InfiniteCrisis



Series: The Infinitives Series [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, Bruises, But he needs to work through some issues, Come Eating, Come Marking, Consensual Rape, Control Issues, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Will Graham, Excessive Talking, Extremely Dubious Consent, Facials, Finger Sucking, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Kissing, Light Spanking, M/M, Morally Gray Will Graham, Morning After, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Series, Rough Sex, Scars, Smitten Hannibal, Submissive Hannibal, Top Will Graham, Unconscious Sex, Will Loves Hannibal, again???, and some angst, bottom!Hannibal Day 2017, but he's unconscious so..., but mostly these idiots are just so in love it's ridiculous, but not too bad and Hannibal's kind of into it, kind of more scar worship than I was planning on, kind of????, this is a fluffier story than all this is making it sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/pseuds/InfiniteCrisis
Summary: To Sleep and To Wake:Will is nervous and having some reservations about him and Hannibal actually having sex for the first time.  He decides to deal with this by drugging Hannibal and having sex with him while he is unconscious.  Hannibal is remarkably unperturbed.





	1. Dormire

**Author's Note:**

> While this is ultimately a pretty fluffy story, the fact remains that involves someone being drugged and taken sexual advantage of without their consent, so for that alone I'm putting a big old WARNING sign at the start here. Things could be triggering, so proceed with caution. 
> 
> Also, I want to put some notes here about the drug in this story: it is not a real drug. There is no drug I found that behaves exactly the way I needed it to for this story, though there are those that came close. Ultimately, I decided to just say "this is fiction" and not worry about it...much like many TV shows do, tbh. But, I also found that I just wasn't comfortable naming a specific drug and then basically giving specific instructions on how to use it to date rape someone. I doubt anyone who would really do that is looking for advice from a smutty Hannibal fan fiction and could easily just lookup the information like I did, but writing it out just gave me the willies, so that's why everything is left pretty vague and the drug is never named.
> 
> I did not intend for my first two Hannigram fics to be consensually dubious messes, but here we are. Honestly, you could probably view this as a kind of lighter counterpart to my first Hannigram fic, You Are My Heart, which is about as light as a black hole, but whatever. Anyway, this fic will be in two chapters, the second of which I'm planning to upload for the bottom!Hannibal day on tumblr, so expect that August 9th. I was planning to post the whole thing for that (this was originally meant to be one chapter, ha FUCKING HA), but since it came out longer I wanted to break it up, and I thought chapter two would be a better bottom!Hannibal celebration since he'll be, y'know...awake. 
> 
> They'll also be some more, um, BDSM type stuff in chapter two (cause that's just how I do, y'all) and I'll update the tags once it's posted. 
> 
> So, yeah, I think that basically covers it. I welcome you to venture forth into this weirdness--it's been really fun getting into the Hannibal fanfiction and fandom world, and hopefully I'll do some more writing for this ship in the future since they are FUN AS HELL. Though they are also a lot of work (check out my tumblr and the tag "fanfiction problems" if you want to see my descent into madness writing this fic, omg). I'll post links to that and the bottom!Hannibal thread in the endnotes. 
> 
> Aaaand, I think I've probably talked enough, so I'll just shut up and let you get to the meat already. 
> 
> Bon Appetetit :-D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To sleep.

 

Lately, Will had started thinking about sex with Hannibal.

To be more clear, lately Will had started thinking about _having_ sex with Hannibal. 

The _idea_ of sex with Hannibal was nothing new.  That is, the concept of the sexual and Hannibal existing in the same general area had been an easy enough connection for his brain to make.  He’d observed Hannibal’s sensuality and suggestiveness many times over the years, and his own reactions to them, with a kind of matter-of-fact acceptance.  It was simply another part of what they were, that static charge that buzzed into being whenever they shared space.  But their attraction—and he supposed he should call it that, if only to accurately describe the phenomenon in terms of gravitational physics—had always remained in the realm of the abstract.  Like reading a stunning piece of sheet music without ever actually hearing it played.  He’d never contemplated how the _physical_ act of sex with Hannibal might play out. 

Now he couldn’t seem to stop. 

Since their recovery, and falling into a strange near-domesticity in yet another secret safe house that Hannibal course had ready, Will had begun to feel like crossing that final line between them was inevitable.  Sex would be, in some ways, one of the least intimate acts between them.  And yet it remained as a kind of flimsy yet persistent barrier—a sheet of plastic wrap preventing full, complete contact.  Will knew it was only a matter of time before one of them tore through that spider web-thin shielding.  It was what would follow after that seemed to plague Will now. 

Part of him just couldn’t quite picture it.  Sure, Hannibal had a certain hedonistic sensuality about him, but actual _sex_?  Sex was messy, sometimes awkward, and generally, well… _undignified_.  Hannibal seemed imbued a kind of 'Renaissance art' type of sexuality: beautiful, pristine, and ultimately untouchable. 

He’d never asked Alana what Hannibal was like in bed--and _God,_ he had no idea how he would have ever managed to bring _that_ topic up in conversation--but now he was kind of regretting missing his chance.  He supposed he could have asked Bedelia, but picturing that smug smirk she’d no doubt have on her face when she answered caused his blood to boil in a way that made him worry that line of questioning might have resulted in an attempted murder charge. 

So, he had only his own observations and imaginings to go on, which in this particular area appeared to be inconveniently sparse.  What would sex with someone who maintained such perfect self-control even be _like_?  There were only two times Will could remember witnessing a crack in that control; one of those times had been on the edge of a cliff after Hannibal had been recently shot, and the other had been in a kitchen after he’d stabbed Will in the gut, so neither could really be viewed as ideal scenarios. 

Would Hannibal allow that control to crack when it came to sexual intimacy?  That was the real question, and it was hard to think the answer would be _yes_.  It was easier to believe that he’d somehow remain that perfect marble statue, even in the midst of passion, in a way Will was certain _he’d_ never be able to.  When things finally broke free between them, Will would undoubtedly be the one frenzied with lust, while Hannibal’s mind would remain frustratingly clear.  And then he’d use all that clever skill and effortless sensuality to take Will apart, piece by piece.  He’d _oh so delicately_ direct Will this way and that, until Will wouldn’t be able to tell which way was up anymore—till he could no longer distinguish between which desires were his, and which were Hannibal’s.

That thought made him prickle, like a porcupine, a sour taste forming in his mouth.  He _wanted_ Hannibal, he could admit that at least, but he wanted him on his own terms.  What he _really_ wanted was to be able to explore that aspect between them without Hannibal swaying his course like a strong tide on a weak rudder.  Even the thought of Hannibal’s eyes on him—piercing, hypnotizing—made Will’s jaw clench.  It put him on edge, and he found himself waiting for one of them to make the first move that would bring their suggested sexual relationship into the literal like it were a bomb.

He wasn’t quite sure when the idea for a solution to this problem came to him; divergent elements popped up like footnotes in his mind, until they suddenly coalesced all at once into a fully formed thought. 

It probably started when he noticed Hannibal’s well stocked medical cabinet.  Without conscious thought, he found himself fingering a certain bottle of drugs, reading and re-reading the label.  It could cause intense drowsiness and memory loss when taken in higher doses.  Do not take with alcohol, as it could increase the effects and cause the drug to enter the bloodstream more rapidly. 

One day, prompted by nothing, Will measured what he judged to be a large but not dangerous dosage, and carefully funneled it into a small, clear vial before sticking the vial in his pocket. 

He still had no clear intention of using it.  But he carried the vial with him, always carefully secreted away.  He never touched it, or placed a telling hand over his pocket absentmindedly, but he felt it there, a constant reassurance that eased his tension and soothed his abrasive worries. 

He was oddly unconcerned about the implications of what he was implicitly contemplating.  That in itself should probably concern him--hat he could even consider this, justify this, was yet another sign that his sense of morality was likely damaged beyond repair.  He was a killer, but so far he’d still only killed other killers.  Whether that would change under Hannibal’s more constant influence was yet to be determined, but for now it remained the case.  He’d come to accept _those_ actions.  Was this really so different?  Though raping rapists wasn’t exactly something he was eager to add to his repertoire, and Hannibal, while many things, certainly wasn’t _that_ —no, his chosen violations tended to be a tad less inelegant.  Still, it wasn’t like he was taking advantage of some innocent coed; it was _Hannibal_ , who was about as far from innocent as a person could get.

Maybe that was what it came down to really, why he could contemplate this with so little self-recrimination: it was _Hannibal_.  Hannibal was, still, the only person he had ever persistently and actively fantasized about killing.  He was also the only person he’d fantasized about killing _with_.  Those first fantasies had stopped, but it was still indicative of how, as far as Will’s morality went, Hannibal existed as a thing apart—a category held completely and wholly to himself. 

At this point, Will was still mostly certain that he’d never actually use the little vial tucked discretely into his pocket. 

 

Their home for the time being was not nearly as ostentatious as Hannibal’s old house had been, and was even a step down from the secret getaway on the bluff, but it still had an ample kitchen and dining room, two bedrooms upstairs, and something that could be described as a library, or maybe a sitting room, complete with leather upholstered easy chairs and a fireplace.  After dinner, Hannibal would often put on some music—usually a soft, lilting soprano played on an impeccably well-kept record player—and relax in one of the armchairs, his eyes closed, head swaying slightly in time to the music.  Will usually left him there, retiring to his own room, still able to hear the faint strains of the music through the floor until Hannibal turned it off and came up, opening and closing the door across the hall with a gentle creak. 

Tonight, Will hovered in the doorway, watching Hannibal settle into his usual seat.  After a moment, he stepped inside and made his way over to the vintage, globe-shaped liquor cabinet.  He’d nearly burst out laughing when he’d seen it for the first time—it was the type of thing one saw in movies and assumed no one in real life had actually owned.  He slid open the top, and now Hannibal turned his head and looked over at him, taking note of this change in routine. 

“I’m having a drink,” Will said, stating the obvious as he poured himself two fingers worth of what he knew was very good whiskey.  “Should I pour you one?” Will asked, almost an afterthought, as he paused before replacing the cap onto the bottle. 

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, seemingly contemplating the question.  “I’m more partial to wine than hard liquor,” he said after a moment, sounding almost-but-not-quite apologetic.  “I believe there’s still half a bottle of Montevertine in the kitchen.”

Will’s lip quirked.  “…Would you like me to get you a glass?” He prompted, tone teasing. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Hannibal replied.

Will fought the urge to roll his eyes, and closed the bottle of whiskey with a small sigh.  He’d made it all the way to the kitchen, placed one of Hannibal’s crystal wine glasses on the counter and pulled the cork from the bottle of over-priced red before any thought of the vial in his pocket came to him. 

Then he stopped.  Pausing mid-motion, with the only sound in his ears quite suddenly his own heartbeat, Will seemed to peer over the edge of a cliff, his toes scraping the edge. 

Like in times before, the line between indecision and decision was drawn in the space between two heartbeats. 

Will took out the vial, and emptied the contents into the glass.  He poured a generous portion of wine, and swirled it until there was no visible sign of the drug, then dropped the empty vial into the trash, and made his way back to Hannibal, carrying the glass in one hand and the not quite empty bottle of wine in the other. 

He set the bottle of Montevertine with the other liquor, picked up his own glass of whiskey, and crossed to Hannibal.  He held out the glass of glinting dark red liquid with a casual impatience.  Hannibal took it with a nod, and Will took a seat in the armchair across from him.  He brought the whiskey to his lips while Hannibal set his nose over the rim of his wine glass and inhaled, the way he and all pretentious wine aficionados do before deigning to allow a vintage to pass their lips. 

And then, Hannibal paused. 

Will swallowed, the bitter taste of alcohol in his mouth as his heart skipped a beat, because he was abrubtly, terrifyingly certain that Hannibal knew. 

He _knew_. 

That freak nose, Will thought, jaw clenching, that fucking freak nose.  When Hannibal had first gotten around to telling him that he’d known Freddie Lounds was alive because he’d _smelled_ her on him, Will had thought he was joking.  Because that just wasn’t normal, wasn’t _human_.  But in the end he had to concede that this bit of unreality was simply another piece of the insanity that came with Hannibal Lecter.  Somehow, the relevance hadn’t occurred to him until this moment.  He started to feel a faint itch along his stomach, along the scar that ran across there, as visions of blood began to cloud the corners of his eyes.      

It could only have been a moment, a handful of seconds at most, but Will felt like it lasted eons as his mind raced. 

And then, calmly, Hannibal brought the rim of the wine glass to his lips and tilted his head back, draining it all in one long gulp.  When he’d finished, he lowered the glass, his tongue darting over his lips to snatch the traces of red there, eyes closed like he was contemplating the taste. 

“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully.  “This vintage is better than I remembered.  Would you be kind enough to fetch me another glass?” 

He held out the wine glass by the stem, his posture easy, eyes mild.  Will stared back.  Disbelieving.

Forcing his limbs to move, he set down his whiskey on the accent table to his right and stood up.  In the two and a half steps it took to cross the space between them, Will thought of a dozen or so ways Hannibal could kill him before the drug set in.  As he clasped his fingers around the glass, brushing dangerously against Hannibal’s own, he wondered if Hannibal had slipped something into his own whiskey while he’d been out of the room.  As he poured the last of the Montevertine into Hannibal’s glass, he wildly considered the possibility that Hannibal had built up some kind of immunity, and he was in some absurd Princess Bride scenario. 

He handed off the glass to Hannibal, who received it with another nod and a smile, and retook the seat across from him.  He watched as Hannibal repeated the process of sniffing his wine before bringing the rim to his lips, this time taking a slow, savoring sip and allowing the liquid to swirl around his mouth before swallowing. 

“What an unexpected pleasure, Will,” Hannibal said, eyes still on the wine, before lifting his gaze.  “To have you join me tonight.”  There was weighted pause.  “What shall we talk about?” 

Will wrapped his hand around his glass of whiskey, not lifting it.  He fiddled with it instead, twisting it back and forth on the surface of the table. 

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt the evening’s performance,” he said, with glance toward the record player, throat tight. 

Hannibal’s smile widened.  “As enchanting as Dame Leider’s _Leibestod_ is, her company is one I am fortunate enough to be blessed with whenever I wish.  Yours is not always so easily called upon.”  He took another sip. 

Will stared at the maddening man sitting across from him.  He was starting to wonder if he’d imagined that moment of hesitation, that maybe Hannibal was completely unaware after all.  There was certainly nothing in his voice, in his posture, in the way he calmly sat there and sipped his two-hundred dollar wine, to suggest otherwise. 

“Nothing to say?” Hannibal commented in response to Will’s silence.  

“Just…thinking,” Will replied cautiously. 

“Mm,” Hannibal hummed, taking another sip.  “Normally I wouldn’t rush you, but I don’t think we have very much time before I cease to be a satisfactory conversational partner.” 

So.  That cleared that up then. 

Oddly, Will felt a kind of relief with it out in the open.  He relaxed into his chair, and finally took another sip of his whiskey. 

“How much time would you say we have?” He asked, after a beat, tilting an eyebrow. 

“How much did you give me?” Hannibal replied evenly, matching Will’s tone.  Will hesitated only moment before answering.   

“About five grams.”

Hannibal took that in with barely a blink, then took a breath in through his nose.  “In that case, I think I should count myself lucky if I manage to finish this splendid glass of wine.”  He took another sip, shooting Will a sardonic glance over the rim.  Will found the corners of his lips quirking into a smile despite himself. 

“You don’t seem very concerned,” Will observed darkly. 

“Should I be?” Hannibal asked. 

“I don’t know,” Will said tightly, a bit of venom bleeding through.  “Maybe.” 

Hannibal regarded him a moment. 

“Do you intend to kill me?”

He said it in that same even, untroubled way he’d asked, 'Do you fantasize about killing me' all those years ago.  Will felt his throat tighten. 

“No,” he rasped.  He took another swig of alcohol, swallowing around the lump in his throat.  “No, I don’t intend to kill you.” 

Hannibal tilted his head, contemplative.  “Do you intend to leave then,” he said, not quite managing to disguise the bitter flatness of his tone.  “Perhaps take this opportunity to make certain I couldn’t follow.” 

Will blinked.  A soft chuckle burst from his chest.  He decided not to explain exactly how much _that_ idea never would have occurred to him. 

“You’d follow,” he said instead, with amusement.  “No matter where I went, sooner or later, you’d find me.” 

Hannibal looked at him, a blankness coloring his eyes for a breath before blinking away. 

“I would.  But not, I think, how you imagine.”  He twirled the stem of the wine glass in his fingers, eyes lowering to watch the dark liquid swirl about inside.  “This may surprise you, but it was never my intention to hold you hostage.  If you truly wish to leave, I will not stop you, and I will not trouble you.”  He lifted his eyes, dark orbs meeting Will’s own.  “I will watch, but I will not trouble you.” 

For some reason, Will felt his face heat at Hannibal’s words, his heart thumping distractedly against his ribcage. 

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, and gulped down another mouthful of whiskey.  His glass was nearly empty now, only the slightest shimmer of liquid left on the bottom.

Hannibal seemed to assess his answer, and then nodded once, almost to himself.  He opened his mouth, paused, and then spoke.  “What are your intentions, then?” 

Will found himself smirking.  “I thought you weren’t concerned,” he said teasingly.

“You made that assessment; I never made any such claim.”  With that, he finished the last of his wine, holding the glass aloft with a small smile of victory. 

Will felt his smirk fade into a scowl, stomach twisting.  “You drank the wine,” he stated, with a note of accusation.

Hannibal’s eyes flickered from his wine glass to Will.  “I did.” 

“You knew what was in it,” Will pressed.

Deftly, Hannibal turned slightly in his chair, placing the wine glass on the accent table near him.  “I did.”

Will fought to urge to grind his teeth.  “So, what did you _think_ I would do.” 

“I didn’t know,” Hannibal replied simply, sitting back in his chair.  “I considered a number of possibilities, but I couldn’t say for certain.” 

“You didn’t know,” Will repeated, slowly.  “What I would do.  And you still drank the wine I drugged.”

Hannibal took a breath.  “Yes.” 

Will stared for a long moment.  “Why.” 

Hannibal tilted his head slightly.  “I believe you have yet to answer my own question.”

Will’s lip twitched.  “About my ‘intentions’.” 

“Yes,” was Hannibal’s prompt reply.

Will considered a moment.  He could lay everything out, right here and now.  Give Hannibal a chance to…what?  Protest?  _Agree?_   Talk him out of it?  Do… _something_ to shape the way it would all play out?

He clicked his tongue.    

“I think you can probably figure that out,” he said, and chugged back the last of his whiskey.  “And if not…” He said dismissively, making a show of examining his empty glass.  “Well, then, you’re just going to have to wait and see when you wake up.” 

With that, he snapped his gaze back onto Hannibal.  Hannibal gazed back steadily, quiet and unmoving.  After a moment, something flickered—a glint, perhaps, of comprehension somewhere deep inside those dark eyes.

“Then,” said Hannibal slowly.  “That being the way of things…I think you shall have to wait for your answer as well.”

Will almost smiled at that—a real, genuine smile—because that was just so _very_ perfect. 

“Well, alright, then,” he said easily, setting his glass aside.  “Let me know when you start feeling sleepy.”  

Hannibal let out a deep sigh.  “I’ve already begun to feel the drug’s effects.  I doubt I will be able to execute the semblance of normal functions for very much longer.” 

“You may be right about that,” Will murmured mildly.  Hannibal’s words were already becoming more noticeably slurred.  He wondered if Hannibal was allowing that, giving an exaggerated performance of the drug’s effects on him.  It seemed only a few moments before Hannibal’s posture began to slump, his head swaying unsteadily as he blinked and swallowed far more often than usual. 

“Hannibal?” Will prompted tentatively.  There was no answer.  Standing, Will crossed to Hannibal’s chair, bending over to look in the man’s face.  “Hannibal?” He asked again.  Hannibal’s head lolled to one side in response.  Will grabbed his jaw in one hand and turned the man’s face toward him, his grip firm and clinical.  He looked over him closely, assessing.  If this was an act, it was a damn good one: Hannibal’s jaw was slack, his eyes unfocussed and constantly fighting to stay open.  It seemed that Will had, indeed, successfully drugged Hannibal Lecter. 

That full realization suddenly brought on a brief spark of panic, as what had been an abstract idea untill now crashed abruptly into reality. 

He didn’t _have_ to do anything, Will reminded himself.  He could stop here.  No one was forcing him.  There was nothing at all to compel him to follow through with his half-formed plans.  He could simply condemn Hannibal to an uncomfortable night sleeping in a chair, and leave it at that.

With a kind of disconnected curiosity, Will watched as his thumb slid from Hannibal’s jaw, across his cheek, and over his mouth.  He pressed down as he passed along Hannibal’s lips, not quite rough, but not gentle either, observing how the loose flesh contorted under the pad of his thumb.  He slipped in between Hannibal’s lips and pulled down on Hannibal’s teeth.  His jaw opened readily, without a hint of resistance.  With nothing obstructing him, Will slid his thumb through the gap now formed between two rows of teeth, smoothly pressing along the curve of Hannibal’s tongue.  There was nearly no response from Hannibal.  Aside from the slightest of twitches, everything remained pliable and utterly inactive as Will inserted his thumb deeper and deeper into Hannibal’s mouth till it was all the way inside. 

There was a pause, like when a rollercoaster perches at the highest point on the rail, and then Will shuddered.  A deep, gnawing arousal coiled tightly in his groin, and he knew.

He wasn’t going to stop. 

Dragging his thumb from Hannibal’s mouth, Will took a moment to tug at the insensate man’s lower lip, coating it with his own saliva, before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him to his feet.  Hannibal had taken to dressing more casually since the fall, which Will didn’t mind, but he suddenly missed the presence of Hannibal’s quintessential silk ties.  Hannibal swayed, but with Will steadying him managed to keep his feet. 

“Come on,” Will said, tugging Hannibal towards him.  “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Up…stairs…” Hannibal repeated, mumbling, the word sounding almost foreign as the sounds were broken up and elongated. 

With an arm at Hannibal’s back and another holding his shoulder, Will carefully walked Hannibal up the flight of stairs and into his bedroom— _Hannibal’s_ bedroom, another decision Will made without much conscious consideration.  Once inside, Will helped plant Hannibal on his feet, and found the man stayed where he put him, though he still swayed slightly from foot to foot.  Will closed the door behind them, which was maybe a bit odd, since it wasn’t like there was anyone else in the house.  Still…this seemed like the sort of thing the door should be closed for. 

For a long moment, Will simply looked at Hannibal.  That typical sharp shine to his eyes was covered now by a shadowed haze, his normally firm yet graceful posture unbalanced and softened. 

Will stepped forward and started tugging Hannibal out of his shirt.  It occurred to him suddenly that he’d never even seen this much--never seen Hannibal _anything_ less than fully clothed.  When he’d divested Hannibal of his shirt, he dropped it on the floor and took half a step back, his eyes trailing over the newly exposed flesh.  It was…somehow exactly right, exactly what he might expect Hannibal to look like under his armor: strong and lithe…just the slightest bit inhuman, except for how utterly and undeniably _real_ he was. 

Reaching out a hand, Will’s first touch was to the scar from the Dragon’s bullet, light fingers caressing the pale indentation and surrounding skin.  He pressed his palm over the wound, then slid his hand over the curve of Hannibal’s hip to his back.  There should be a matching one there, and…yes, there it was.  He could feel it, that tiny dip in the flesh, and he laid in hand over it, wrapping his arm around Hannibal’s waist and pulling himself against his bare chest.  He closed his eyes, laying his scarred cheek over Hannibal’s heart, listening to the firm _thumpthump_ of it through his skin.  A deep inhale, and he sighed, his breath tickling the light brush of hairs covering Hannibal’s chest. 

He slid around Hannibal’s body, keeping his hand pressed to the man’s skin as he stepped behind him, his palm smoothing its way across Hannibal’s spine to meet his other hip.  He looked over the planes of Hannibal’s bare back, and blinked.  His brow furrowed. 

A large circle of raised scar tissue marred Hannibal’s skin.  It was only slightly paler than the flesh surrounding it, and discerning its shape and form required closer concentration.  Intricate lines played almost delicately across skin, the figures of crown and boar appearing almost sophisticated until one took in the crude lettering underneath.  Will traced over the ‘V’ in ‘Verger’ with the pad of his index finger. 

“A souvenir from Muskrat Farm,” he murmured, the last word lilting up in pitch, making it into half a question.  His eyes flicked up to the back of Hannibal’s head, as though he might answer, but there was only silence.  A strange tightness in his stomach, Will brought his gaze back to the branded skin in front of him.  He spread his fingers and, light as spider legs, placed them softly along the very edges of the rounded scar, barely touching the raised flesh.  Delicate.  Tentative.  Then he drew his hand away, fingers curling in on themselves.  In a moment of bold impulsiveness, he bent forward and pressed his dry lips softly to the very top of the brand where scar tissue met unblemished skin. 

He held Hannibal gently by the hips, eyes closed as he breathed steadily through his nose and lingered with his lips against Hannibal’s bare flesh.  Were these scars, Will wondered, something that showed Hannibal to be less mythic, less untouchable, than he appeared?  More…human?  But, no, Will concluded, pulling away.  These were not _human_ scars.  These were the scars of a monster, won doing battle with other monsters. 

He looked over them once more, and then came back round to Hannibal’s front.  Hannibal was looking a bit unsteady, like he might collapse at any moment, and Will supposed he should get on with it.

First…taking half a step in, till he and Hannibal were nearly chest to chest, Will sought out Hannibal’s eyes.  They were half-closed and hazy, and kept sliding off to the left or right.  Will put a hand to the back of Hannibal’s neck and held his head in place.  Cautiously, he leaned in and placed their lips together.  Hannibal didn’t move, his mouth staying soft and passive under Will’s own.  Will deepened the kiss, pushing his mouth into Hannibal’s.  Hannibal’s lips parted from simple application of force, and Will didn’t hesitate, sliding his tongue inside. 

Free to explore, he licked along the inner cavern of Hannibal’s mouth in a way it would have never occurred to him to do in any normal kiss.  He pulled down on Hannibal’s jaw with his other hand as he sucked on his face and plunged his tongue in grotesquely deep before slithering out again.  Hannibal wasn’t really responding, making only miniscule movements lacking any force or intent, but he opened readily and that was enough for Will now.  He pulled away, leaving Hannibal’s lips swollen and wet with a trail of spittle dripping from them.  He wiped his own mouth, bit his bottom lip, and lowered his eyes. 

He reached out and took ahold of Hannibal’s belt, giving the buckle a firm tug.  Raising his eyes to Hannibal’s face, he watched the impassive expression there keenly as he worked open the clasp with both hands.  Gaining confidence, his fingers didn’t pause before moving to work open the front of Hannibal slacks, barely trembling at the errant brushes to Hannibal’s groin.  With a firm shove, he sent Hannibal’s pants falling to the floor around his feet, the act Will observed himself finding disproportionately erotic. 

A moment’s hesitation, and Will slipped his fingers under the waistband of Hannibal’s underwear and dragged them down as well.  He pushed Hannibal backwards till his knees hit the bed and he fell back, sprawling, onto the mattress.  Half-kneeling, Will quickly yanked Hannibal’s pants and underwear off his feet along with his shoes and socks, and then stood, looking down over the now naked man before him. 

Hannibal’s eyes were half closed.  His movements were restricted to tiny, indistinct shifts: a small turn of his head against the bedding, a flexing of fingers, a subtle redistribution of weight.  His lips parting, or pressing together softly as he breathed.  The lump of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.  For a long minute Will stood perfectly still, almost a mirror to Hannibal’s drug-induced motionlessness, his gaze meandering over vast planes of exposed flesh.  Hannibal’s body lay limply on the bed—conspicuous, and starkly antithetical to all that oscillating potential and kinetic energy the man normally personified.  Will imagined that even in sleep, Hannibal would never have otherwise appeared so docilly passive.  It was disquieting.  And, at the same time, utterly intoxicating. 

Killing Randall Tier hadn’t given him this potent a power trip.

Suddenly hot, Will clawed at the buttons of his shirt, nearly tearing some of them as he ripped the fabric from his shoulders, tossing it carelessly off to the side and out of sight.  His undershirt soon followed and, now bare from the waist up, he set his sights on Hannibal.  He grabbed the man’s legs and pushed them up and out, bending them at the knee and then settling between Hannibal’s splayed thighs.  He took a moment to adjust himself in his trousers, his erection starting to become an uncomfortable distraction.  He pushed that need aside—there’d be time for that later, he promised the ache in his pants—for now, he had other, more pressing concerns. 

Like finding out how Hannibal’s cock would feel in his hand. 

Swallowing once, Will reached out and took a firm hold of Hannibal’s flaccid penis, inhaling sharply at the sudden warmth to the sensitive inner curve of his palm.  Experimentally, he swiped his thumb over the head, pulling gently that the foreskin to reveal the tip.  He rubbed the pad of his thumb in slow circles over the slit, and felt the flesh in his hand begin to swell.  Hannibal was unconscious, but his body could still respond to stimuli, and Will even heard a faint grunt as Will squeezed tighter and started rubbing up and down the shaft of Hannibal’s growing erection.

“This would probably benefit from some lubrication,” Will muttered to himself.  He shot a look up at Hannibal.  “I’m sure you’d agree, if you could.” 

Will paused his ministrations and cast his eyes about the room.  Settling on one of the nightstands, he stood and rounded the bed. 

“I don’t suppose you’d have anything on hand,” he continued, conversationally, sliding open the top drawer.  There was a bottle sitting inside, next to a pile of crisp, white cotton handkerchiefs, and Will plucked it up, examining the label curiously.  It had an elegant design, subtly and unobtrusively informing that the bottle contained a “personal lubricant,” and which on closer, careful inspection also contained the phrase “anal relaxant.”  Will quirked an eyebrow, and then his smile widened into a grin as he noticed the bottle was half empty.  “Why, Doctor Lecter,” Will chortled.  “What have you been getting up to.” 

Will pumped a small dollop onto one finger and sniffed, relieved to detect only a faint, fresh green-ish scent from the slippery substance.  He rubbed the slick between his finger and thumb, and then smoothly shut the drawer with his hip.  He returned to the space between Hannibal’s parted legs with the bottle in tow, regarding the body in front of him with hooded eyes.  With surprising calm, a pumped a more generous portion of lubricant onto his fingers and slipped them deftly between the cheeks of Hannibal’s ass.  He rubbed firmly, insistently, coating Hannibal’s hole and perineum with slickness.  There was a low, rumbling hum in response—a senseless, sleepy sound—and Will smiled to himself. 

“You like that, huh,” Will commented breathily.  He pulled back his fingers to apply more lube.  “What about this?” 

He pressed his index finger inside, and Hannibal readily opened to him, his hips canting ever-so-slightly up into the invasion.  Will began to slide in and out, and the tight inner walls surrounding his finger seemed to pulse, clenching and releasing in time to his movements.  Will’s cock gave an approving twitch, and Will swallowed hard, face heating.  Hannibal’s lips were moving—forming vague, inaudible murmurings with each exhaled breath—his head swaying back and forth against the bed as his eyelids fluttered.  A second finger was added beside the first, plunging in resolutely to the third knuckle.  The passageway felt unbearably tight at first, but soon began to loosen, adapting and adjusting almost eagerly to the new girth. 

Hannibal’s cock lay against his stomach, glistening pearls of precum dripping from the head.  Pumping a handful of slick into his free palm, Will took hold of it. He began working it slowly, getting used to the feel of it; how it was like his own, but also…not.  Humans were mostly built of the same basic components, but it was in the minutiae of detail that anything of interest was found.  In reality, there wasn’t any significant difference between the male sex organ in his hand and any other one might encounter.  And yet, somehow to Will it seemed uniquely exceptional—because like all pieces and parts of Hannibal, this one was exactly and precisely suited to him, and nothing of Hannibal’s even existed on the same plane as _ordinary_.

He sped up a bit, marveling at the minute signs of helpless pleasure he could draw out of Hannibal’s unconscious form.  He found Hannibal’s prostate with his fingers, grinning at the way Hannibal’s hips would buck just a little each time he touched it.  He shoved a third finger inside and nearly laughed out loud at the muffled mewl that tore out of Hannibal’s throat.  It was unreal: after everything— _everything_ Hannibal had done, everything he’d put Will through, all the ways he’d turned him inside out and twisted him up—now, after all that, Will was the one who had _him_ in the palm of his hand.  Wrapped round his fingers. 

He gave those fingers a rough twist just to hit home the point.  He hadn’t considered this act in terms of retribution—and he wouldn’t say that was something that even remotely interested him anymore—but there was a certain karmic irony he could appreciate. 

“I’m gonna make you come, Hannibal,” Will half-threatened.  “And then…” He found himself panting and he paused, gasping for breath as the unspoken words rattled around his brain and left him burning. 

“Then I’m gonna fuck you.” 

With that, the motions of his hands on Hannibal’s flesh shifted from exploratory to relentless, barreling Hannibal towards orgasm like he was kicking down a door.  But, Hannibal’s defenses were more made of paper than oak at the moment, and so he smashed through in mere moments.  Hannibal climaxed in a kind of broken explosion, jerking disjointedly and choking silently on air, before falling back to the bed to hang even more limply than before.  His stomach and chest were splattered sloppily with cum—an image that was, while filthy and pornographic, not, on Hannibal, entirely inelegant. 

Will eased back off the mattress to his feet, letting his arms drop to his sides.  He stood at the foot of the bed, his hands awkwardly drenched in lube in a way that reminded him of when they’d been covered in blood.  Hannibal lay unmoving but for the rise and fall of his chest, his legs still spread obscenely, the slick wetness between his cheeks wantonly displayed. 

Will was sure he’d never been so fucking hard in his life. 

Quickly, Will grabbed a washcloth from Hannibal’s bathroom, grateful that Hannibal’s tendency toward the extravagant meant each bedroom came with their own washroom.  He wiped his hands and was back in no time at all, the cloth left forgotten on the floor somewhere.  He regarded Hannibal’s inert form for a mere moment, and then he was snatching up one of Hannibal’s pillows.  It took a bit of maneuvering, but Will was stronger than he looked and very motivated, and soon enough Hannibal was turned onto his stomach, the pillow tucked firmly under his hips. 

Will carefully made sure Hannibal’s head was turned to one side, laying his cheek gently to rest against the bed so he could comfortably breathe, and with luck probably wouldn’t have too bad of a neck cramp.  Then it was back to the foot of the bed to inspect his work, and the sight he was met with left him practically salivating. 

Hannibal’s position with the pillow under his hips raised his ass at a slight angle in a way that could only politely be described as ‘inviting.’  His strong thighs naturally fell open _just_ a bit, and Will could see the glinting pink wetness of Hannibal’s freshly finger-fucked hole peeking from between the shapely cheeks of his ass.  It was lewd and vulgar, and quite frankly disrespectful.  Abruptly, it was clear exactly how much of Hannibal’s ubiquitous and carefully cultivated dignity had been stripped away by this whole exercise in moral reprehensibility.  And Will knew he should feel guilty and ashamed about that, he _really_ did, but fucking hell, seeing Hannibal like this—all exposed and vulnerable, defiled and degraded—it got him _so_ fiercely hot and _achingly_ hard, and he _just didn’t fucking care_ about all the rest of it.  Not now. 

He yanked open his belt, hurriedly toeing off his shoes and socks and then shuffling out of his pants and underwear with flagrant urgency, half-hopping as one leg got stuck around his ankle, and the whole thing couldn’t have appeared any kind of graceful, but hell, it wasn’t like anyone was looking, now was it?  Finally freed of his clothes, he almost dove onto the bed, pushing Hannibal’s legs open wide and landing on his knees between them.  Not quite shaking, he dragged his hands up along the firm muscle of Hannibal’s thighs, at last coming to rest solidly on the mounds of his well-formed ass.  He gave them a hard squeeze, and as the flesh moved under his fingers it seemed suddenly ludicrous that he’d never done this before, that he could have ever waited this long to get his hands on Hannibal like this. 

He groaned, deep and guttural, and pulled apart Hannibal’s cheeks.  With Hannibal’s pucker now fully exposed, Will took some moments to appreciate the unobstructed view of this inner-most private part of him.  Not many moments, though, because Will’s patience had utterly run out by now.  Hannibal’s hole appeared to be dripping with lube, so Will didn’t bother retrieving the bottle that had fallen to the floor by now; instead, he simply sank both of his thumbs deep inside, and _pulled_ , watching hungrily as Hannibal’s entrance stretched wide, the muscle easily bending under his insistent pressure. 

With that, he slid his thumbs from Hannibal’s flexing hole and lined up his cock.  Said cock, sensing that its long and unjust neglect was coming to an end, jerked excitedly, smearing a line of precum along Hannibal’s open crack.  Keeping a harsh grip on Hannibal’s ass, Will at long last sank inside Hannibal’s pliant, unresisting body.  He drove all the way in in one smooth motion, not pausing until his hips were pressed hard against Hannibal’s ass.  For a moment, all he could do was stay there, frozen, the gripping, slick tightness around him almost too much to bear.  Then, from somewhere deep inside, he let out a long, low, throaty groan.  His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth clenched and lips pulled back in gruesome snarl as his body and brain attempted to process the profound enormity of this moment. 

Nothing before this could have prepared him for the reality of being buried cock deep in Hannibal Lecter’s ass. 

Will’s hands felt around blindly till they found the firm knobs of Hannibal’s hipbones, ruthlessly digging his fingernails into the flesh of them as he forced Hannibal to tilt his pelvis and arch even further up into the cock spearing him.  Will groaned again, and this time the sound was even rougher, more ragged.  He took a harsh breath in through his nose, and opened his eyes.

He looked over the slope of Hannibal’s back, following the line of his spine up to his neck and the feathery strands of hair covering his face.  His arms were bent at the elbows, hands resting beside his head, fingers softly curled.  He had all the appearance of peaceful sleep, of having drifted off into some sweet, placid dream.  In all the time Will had known him, Hannibal had never looked more innocent. 

Will’s mouth opened into another snarl, sucking in air between his teeth, and then released his breath in a low, thundering growl.  Sure and uncompromising, he held Hannibal in place, drew his cock nearly all the way out, and then slammed back in with enough force that Hannibal’s whole body shook from the impact.  With that, all of his held tension was unleased.  He fucked Hannibal, his body working on pure instinct, hips snapping hard and fast, his hold on Hannibal’s hips unrelenting, driven by that singular need to plunge deeper and deeper and _deeper_ into the pulsing heat around him. 

He’d never fucked like this; Will, like most, at least _tried_ to be a conscientious and caring lover, to seek fulfilling his partner's needs as much as own.  He’d never felt resentful of that, or found anything unpleasant about it at all.  He’d certainly never selfishly used someone’s body without any thought to their pleasure or comfort.  But he was now.  He was fucking into Hannibal’s ass without a single care spared for the man.  If it had been anyone else, he would have been appalled at himself.  Horrified.  But this was Hannibal. 

And all he felt was pure fucking exhilaration.

His ears were filled with the sound of the _slap slap slap_ of flesh on flesh, the thrumming pound of his own heartbeat, and an occasional grunt or gasp.  All noises of his own making.  If Hannibal was letting out any sounds, they were too quiet to be heard over Will’s frenetic fucking.  With a last, vicious thrust and a growl, Will pulled Hannibal flush against his hips, threw his head back and let out a painful sounding howl as he came. 

He pumped cum deep into Hannibal’s ass, wave after wave of his orgasm coursing through him, beads of sweat dripping down his neck.  One last hissing gasp and he fell forward, half-bowed over Hannibal’s back.  A series of shuddering breaths rocked through him, and he laid down, lying his cheek against the dip between Hannibal’s shoulder blades.  He let his arms wrap around Hannibal’s sides, just breathing, drawing fortitude from the silent stability in Hannibal’s dormant body. 

After some unmarked length of time, Will drew himself up, lazily planting a kiss to the base of Hannibal’s neck.  Trailing kisses down the bumps of Hannibal’s spine, piercing straight through the mark of the brand as he went, as he slowly sat back on his heels.  When he reached the point when curving his back was a strain, he sat up straight.  His cock, now flaccid, was still buried inside Hannibal, and Will couldn’t stop a regretful sigh as he finally withdrew.  His limp penis slipped from Hannibal hole, and soon after droplets of cum started to follow, dribbling fluidly down his crack.  There was a painful twinge in his groin as a sharp stab of arousal fought to revive his spent and exhausted cock. 

“You look positively debauched, Doctor Lecter.”  Aside from his dripping hole, reddened and swollen from being pounded so mercilessly, Hannibal’s hips and buttocks were dotted with dark, savage bruises.  Will drank in the sight, an unnerving satisfaction churning in his belly.  “No,” he murmured darkly.  “Not debauched.  _Ravaged_.  You’ve been ravaged, Doctor Lecter.”  He ran a single finger over the curve of Hannibal’s ass, casually tracing over the marks he could find there.  “ _I_ have ravaged you,” he said with a quiet, appalled wonder, his tongue thick inside his mouth. 

Along with the deep purple blotches left by Will’s fingers, the was a light dusting of pale rosiness washed over the underside of Hannibal’s ass like a watercolor.  It seemed Will’s thrusts had slapped his hips against Hannibal’s bottom so hard he’d been spanked pink.  Will’s lips smirked at the thought.  It was a rather attractive look, Will mused, tilting his head to appreciate the flush staining Hannibal’s alluringly curved rump. 

A wicked thought popped into his head, and almost immediately Will knew it wouldn’t stay merely an idea.  There was no point in holding back now, after all.  He cupped the underside of Hannibal’s right butt-cheek, rubbing it in almost soothing circles before laying a solid _smack_ just above the crease of his thigh. The muscle bounced lightly, and there was a rewarding bloom of color, and Will was already adjusting his position for a better angle.  The second slap was much harder and the sound of it broke rudely through the quiet of the room.  It left his hand stinging, but Hannibal’s skin deepened into an even ruddier hue. 

He braced a hand on the small of Hannibal’s back, and went to work.  Over and over, he struck at the same spot, his blows rapid and strong.  An oval of bright magenta started to form on that soft mound of flesh, making Hannibal’s right cheek resemble a half-ripened peach.  He went on a while longer, till he was satisfied with the rich watermelon red that decorated the soft skin.  He then set about spanking the left side till it matched. 

The whole thing was marked with a kind of absurdity; this was certainly a pale imitation of the true violence the two of them were capable of.  He’d once imagined Hannibal’s face as he beat a man to death—now he was smacking his bottom because he thought it looked pretty.  He wondered if Hannibal would find it as amusing as he did. 

There was also something shimmeringly arousing about it, a sort of flickering heat that danced in the pit of his belly to the rhythmic slapping sounds filling the room.  The idea of leaving marks on Hannibal—clear, deliberate marks—as a kind of remembrance.  Whatever happened when Hannibal recovered from the drugs Will had given him, for days afterward there would be a clear sign of the power and authority Will had held over him this night.  If he wanted, he supposed, he could leave more permanent marks as well.  He could carve his name into Hannibal’s skin right now and Hannibal would be helpless to stop him.  The idea was oddly unappealing to him though, he reflected, his eyes skimming contemplatively over the brand in the center of Hannibal’s back. 

He sat back on his knees and surveyed his…well.  His design, he supposed, chuckling to himself.  Reddened curves of flesh framed a bruised hole stained with globs of white—a perfect display of having been used for another’s pleasure and amusement.  Feeling giddy, Will took his pointer and fingered Hannibal’s cum-filled hole, enjoying the casual debasement it implied.  He pulled it out and inspected the now cum and lube covered digit, smiling to himself.  After a moments thought, he crawled over Hannibal’s leg and up towards where Hannibal’s head was lying.  Still sleeping soundly, Will noted, brushing the hair from Hannibal’s face and seeing the lax jaw and closed eyes.  His lips were parted ever-so-slightly, partially squashed against the mattress. 

Tilting Hannibal’s head slightly with one hand to reveal more of his face, Will stroked the finger he’d just taken out of Hannibal’s ass down the center of his lips, coating the top and bottom with milky traces.  Then he pushed the finger into Hannibals mouth.  He swirled and rubbed it all around while Hannibal remained utterly impassive, leaving bits of fluid along the roof and walls of his mouth.  Just when he was finished, Hannibal’s lips closed slightly around the digit in his mouth, and he reflexively swallowed, sucking lightly on Will’s finger in the process.  Will found himself swallowing as well, and he quickly withdrew his now spit-soaked index finger. 

Wiping it on the bed, Will looked at Hannibal and then grabbed him by the hair with one hand.  With his other hand he coaxed Hannibal to open his jaw, forcibly holding his mouth wide with a firm grip under his chin.  Then he brought Hannibal’s open mouth toward his cock.

He was only half-hard, but the first touch of Hannibal’s hot breath was enough go about fixing that problem.  He placed himself inside the cavern of Hannibal’s mouth, letting himself swell to fullness in the heat and moisture there.  With a soft moan, he then rocked gently forward, pushing his cock further to the back of Hannibal’s throat.  He didn’t want to choke him, so he kept most of his thrusts shallow, sliding his cock along Hannibal’s inner cheek, the outline clearly visible from the outside.  Hannibal began to drool, saliva dripping from around the cock in his mouth and Will shuddered, finding the sight unbearably arousing.  Then, Hannibal swallowed again, lips closing for a briefest, tantalizing, moment around Will’s shaft before going slack again. 

It was hardly the best or most efficient of blow jobs—honestly, Will wasn’t sure it even qualified—but again, Hannibal’s passivity and the heady sense of power that came with it soon had Will on the edge of a second orgasm.  It occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t come in Hannibal’s mouth like this, since in his unconscious state there was too high a chance of choking, so he reluctantly pulled out, released his hold on Hannibal’s jaw and took himself in hand, moaning in disbelief at how close he was. 

He hadn’t consciously decided to keep his grip on Hannibal’s hair, but there was no indecision at all when he came all over Hannibal’s face after just a few strokes.  Now streaked with ribbons of cum, Hannibal’s sleeping visage no longer had quite the air of innocence about it, Will thought, smirking, and he cheerfully dragged the tip of his cock over Hannibal’s lips, smearing the last drops across the corner of his mouth. 

Will gently rested Hannibal’s cheek back down on the bed, and sat back.  After a long moment, he got up and stood by the bed, looking over Hannibal’s despoiled, unconscious body.  He bit down on the inside of his cheek, a sudden queasiness washing over him.  He didn’t know how long he stayed like that; it seemed a long time, but that didn’t mean anything.  There was a gnawing feeling in his stomach, a wriggling unease he couldn’t quite put a name to. 

When he finally moved again it was to turn Hannibal onto his back.  He placed the pillow he’d used next to Hannibal’s head and stuck a different one underneath it, turning Hannibal face gently to one side.  Will left him like that, lying on his back, arms hung loosely at his sides and one knee softly bent.  He didn’t clean him up.  He supposed cleaning him could be seen as courteous, but it felt too much like trying to hide what he’d done, a vain attempt to cover it up somehow.  Like Garret Jacob Hobbbs patching up Elise Nichols’ wounds after he’d already killed her. 

No, Hannibal deserved to see for himself what had been done to him, with no question or ambiguity.  What he decided to do after that…well, at least the decision wouldn’t be based on any deception. 

Will picked up the bottle of lubricant off the floor, but placed it on top of nightstand instead of in it.  It was the nightstand on the left, which was the direction Hannibal face was turned, so there was no chance he’d miss it.  Next Will gathered up Hannibal’s scattered clothes, folding them up and setting them on top of the dresser, shoes placed neatly underneath.  He felt something heavy in the pocket of Hannibal’s trousers, and upon investigation found it was a switchblade.  Hannibal never liked to be too far from something that could cut a throat, after all.  He held the folded blade in his palm a moment, then walked over to the nightstand and placed it carefully in plain view. 

Next he gathered up his own clothes, and the washcloth he’d used, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.  He dumped everything but his shoes and belt in the laundry basket there, and then made a beeline for the shower.  Scrubbed clean, he came out and put on a fresh set of clothes before heading downstairs.  The record player was still running, the needle going unfruitfully round and round the edge of the disk, so he turned it off, and then poured himself another glass of whiskey.  The deep gold liquid shimmered and flickered as it fell into the glass.  He poured three fingers this time, since he figured it might be the last drink he’d ever have, and then he plucked up Hannibal’s empty wine glass before going back upstairs. 

He turned the doorknob to Hannibal’s room slowly, like maybe he’d find Hannibal already wide awake behind the door.  But, no, Hannibal was just where he’d left him, his only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest.  Closing the door behind him once more, Will crossed to the opposite side of the room.  There was a sitting chair in the far corner, with a small wooden table beside it.  He set both glasses down on the table and sat.  He drank his whiskey in silence, watching Hannibal from under hooded eyes.  When his glass was empty, he set it down, leaned back in his chair and continued to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few reference notes at the end here. 
> 
> First, here's a link to bottom!Hannibal day on tumblr, for any one who might want to check that out: https://feyestwords.tumblr.com/post/162804042029/hey-everyone-so-you-may-remember-a-previous-post
> 
> And here's my tumblr too, if you wanna hang out with me there :-D https://www.tumblr.com/blog/crisisoninfintefandoms
> 
> Also, this is the record Hannibal is listening to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ie5Z_ehN76g  
> The singer is Frida Leider, and she's amazing. 
> 
> I had Hannibal refer her as "Dame", which is a German honorific, since she's German and that seemed like something he would do. It's just a polite way of addressing a woman and does not denote any kind of nobility like the English counterpart, and would be pronounced DAHme and not DAEme). 
> 
> The song is from Tristan and Isolde which, for those who don't know, is an opera in which Isolde tries to poison Tristan, and herself, because he's her family's enemy, but fucks it up and actually gives them both a lust potion instead. This song is sung at the end, after all the ensuing tragedy has ensued, where she proclaims that their love can only be consummated in death, and is literally translated as "Love-Death." Some of the lyrics, translated, are: "To drown, to founder, unconscious--utmost bliss" 
> 
> Anyway, I just thought that was neat and wanted to share. Please leave a comment if there's anything I left out that you think addressing, or if you have any question, or for reason at all really. And I wasn't kidding about hanging out tumblr, I really need some more tumblr fanfiction friends :-D


	2. Excitare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To wake.

Will had dozed off for a bit, but he was quickly roused by the first sounds of movement in the room.  He blinked his eyes open, rubbing a hand over his face, and set his eyes on the bed.  A glance to the clock by the bedside told him it was still in the dark, early morning hours, and indeed, there were no shreds of sunlight peeking through the curtains of any window.

Hannibal, he saw, was just beginning to stir, shifting against the mattress under him and making small, muted grunts as he clawed his way back to consciousness.  Then, all at once, the shifting stopped and Hannibal lay perfectly, unnaturally still. 

His eyes opened. 

Will watched him carefully, noting the way his eyes tracked as he took stock of himself, of his surroundings.  Will had no doubt that he was keenly aware of both, that nothing would escape his notice.  He didn’t dart his eyes frantically around the room, or run his hands over his own face or body, but Will was certain he didn’t need to.  After about a minute, Hannibal sat up, pushing himself up to a seated position on the edge of the bed.  He looked over to Will, and they shared a long silence. 

“So,” Hannibal said finally.  “This was your intention.” 

It wasn’t really a question, but Will answered anyway. 

“Yes.”  Pause.  “Why’d you drink the wine.”  He fixed Hannibal with a low glare and waited expectantly for an answer. 

There was a long beat, and then Hannibal inhaled through his nose in a kind of shrug. 

“I wanted to see what you would do.” 

Will snorted, shaking his head because, honestly, he really should have guessed.  “Congratulations,” he muttered.  “Mission accomplished.” 

Hannibal’s lips curved into a slight smile. 

“Did it occur to you that I might do this,” Will asked, a bitter note landing on _this_. 

Hannibal paused, then gave a slight nod.  “I considered the possibility there could be sexual motivations.  Though, this—” and he gestured vaguely at his own body, the first clear acknowledgement of his present state. “—certainly exceeds anything I might have imagined.”  He shot Will a coy look.  “I have never entirely been able to predict you, Will. 

Here, Will _did_ roll his eyes, suddenly wishing he still had some whiskey left. 

“You know, most people would probably feel violated, if this were done to them,” Will noted idly.  “Traumatized.”

“I am not most people,” Hannibal replied with a slight twinkle in his eye.  “As you may have noticed.” 

Will swallowed.  “So, you’re, what?” He pinned Hannibal with a look.  “Fine?  With…all this?” 

Hannibal regarded him a moment.  “I’m not planning to kill you for it, or exact any other form of retribution, if that’s what you mean.” 

That should have been a relief to hear, and in some ways it was; yet it was also deeply unsettling, and Will was left with an uncertain strangeness nagging at him.     

Hannibal, sensing something, let his eyes glide over Will discerningly.

“Do you regret what you did, Will?”  The question was asked calmly and clearly, though the word ‘regret’ sounded a bit odd in Hannibal’s mouth.    

Will bit back a sigh.  “No _.”_  He forced himself to meet Hannibal’s gaze.  “I don’t.  I don’t regret it.  And that…”  He let his eyes wander, searching.  “ _Concerns_ me.”  He regarded Hannibal quietly.  “I’m not sure _what_ to think about your side of things.  You seem almost… _pleased_.”

Hannibal’s eyes turned inward a moment.  “I suppose I am.  I was wondering how long it would take for you to act on your desires and now you have.  Regardless of the circumstances, the event itself is still worthy of being celebrated.” 

And it really was that easy for him, wasn’t it?  Will could almost be resentful, except the fact was that it was just as easy for him to let whatever wisps of guilt or unease that clung to him to wash away under the sound of Hannibal’s words, the dulcet tones of the man’s voice soothing him like a warm bath.  Will knew he should not allow himself to be soothed—that he should hold those threads of discomfort to him like a life preserver—but at this point, it just didn’t seem worth the effort. 

“I truly do hope you will not judge yourself too harshly,” Hannibal said after moment, almost in answer to Will’s thoughts.  “I would hate for this to be another burden on you.” 

Will held back a low chuckle, shaking his head in a kind of bemusement.  Sighing, he waved a hand dismissively.  “I’ll be fine.  I think I’ve been feeling increasingly _un_ burdened lately.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hannibal said with a simple sincerity.  Then his eyes shifted, and for a moment he almost appeared hesitant.  “If I may ask…”

He looked to Will questioningly, and Will gave a little shrug.

With a short nod, Hannibal went on, his eyes peering curiously out at Will.  “…What _were_ your motives in taking this action?” 

Will blinked.  He looked back at Hannibal, somewhat incredulous, who returned his gaze steadily, expectantly awaiting an answer. 

“Uh, I…” Will stammered, feeling thrown, since, ‘Because I wanted to fuck you,’ was obvious, and couldn’t possibly be what Hannibal was asking about.  “…I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

Hannibal tilted his head, regarding Will evenly and intently, like he was looking for something.  Then he blinked, neck straightening, and he spoke. 

“Was this done to punish me?”

He asked the question with a casual curiosity that sent Will’s blood running cold. 

Opening his mouth, Will found himself unable to speak.  “No,” he managed finally, sounding choked.  “No, I…I wasn’t…that—” He broke off, swallowing thickly. 

It was crazy, but that Hannibal might land on that possible interpretation had actually never occurred to him.

Will shut his eyes, a sick feeling washing over him.  He took a deep breath, and opened them again.

Hannibal was watching him with quiet attention.   

“No,” Will said again, forcing his voice to be steady.  “I wasn’t punishing you.  I don’t—” He faltered for a moment, then collected himself.  “I don’t want to punish you,” he said softly.  “Anymore.”  He sighed out and shook his head.  “I don’t know if I’ve completely forgiven you or ever will, but I’m not angry with you either.”  He snorted, a self-deprecating smile on his face.  “I don’t know what that says about me, but that’s how it is.” 

Hannibal was quiet a moment.  He considered Will’s words carefully, and then he nodded once, in understanding.  Will let out a low, quiet breath of relief. 

“If that was not the reason,” Hannibal asked.  “Then what was?”

Will found himself rolling his eyes again at the absurdity.  “Sex, Hannibal.  The sex was the reason; the reason was the sex.”

“If sex was what you’d wanted from me, you’d need only to have asked for it.”  Hannibal fixed him with a look.  “Surely, you realized that.”

Will instantly sobered.  He bit down on the inside of his cheek, having at least the decency enough to feel chastened by that.  “Yes,” he said weakly. 

“So, I must conclude there was some other underlying motivation,” Hannibal said reasonably.  Will fought back the instinctive bristling that prickled up his spine whenever he was exposed to psychiatrist-speak.

“It’s…” Will started to speak, and then broke off into sigh.  He rubbed a frustrated hand over his eyes.  “It’s not…”  He sighed again.  “It’s not like that, exactly, what…what you’re saying, how you’re saying it.” 

Hannibal looked thoughtful, and then nodded for him to continue. 

Will took in a deep breath.  He should have known Hannibal would make him _talk_ about this. 

“The sex,” he began.  “ _Was_ the motive.  This…” He glanced around, gesturing with his eyes to the whole situation.  “…Was how…” He paused, swallowing.  “Was how I needed to do it.  Or,” he amended, wincing at how that’d come out.  “Was what I needed to…” he trailed off, searching for words.  “To do it the way I…wanted.”  Fuck, that sounded even worse. 

Hannibal didn’t seem perturbed; he listened, waiting for Will to explain himself, appearing not to have drawn any conclusions quite yet.  With a quiet, frustrated growl, Will took a breath and started over.

“I wanted you,” Will said, looking straight at Hannibal as he spoke.  “But I didn’t want—” He broke off, shaking his head.  “…You,” He tried again, carefully.  “Have a tendency to exude a certain…influence.”  A flicker of something darted behind Hannibal’s eyes.  “In general, and on me, in particular.  I knew if we started…if we became intimate—” His lip quirked.  “— _More_ intimate, that it was likely you would apply that influence.  That I would be affected by it.  Whatever wants or desires I had would be…changed, once you were there…looking at them.  I…” Will considered a moment.  “I suppose _I_ wanted to know what I would do.  On my own.  Without you…watching me.” 

“So,” Will concluded.  “I decided I needed a way to engage with you sexually without you being…present.  In order to ‘observe’ myself, without you fogging the glass.”  There was more he could say, but he left it there for now. 

There was a long silence.  Then, Hannibal swallowed, lips parting for a moment before he started speaking.

“And, would you say you were successful?”  He gave Will a measuring look.  “Do you have a clearer view of yourself now than you did before?” 

Will dropped his gaze.  “I don’t know,” he said softly.  “Maybe.  I’m…not sure how much I was affected by the circumstances.” 

“Our actions are often affected by the surrounding circumstances,” Hannibal remarked.  “As much as those circumstances are shaped by our actions.” 

“Are you making a point about how I caused those circumstances I’m now claiming to be affected by?” Will asked.  It wasn’t a bad point to make.                   

“I’m simply making the observation that we are never fully free of outside influences, even as we cannot help but be an influence on those around us.” 

Will’s lip quirked.  “That’s more true for some than for others.”

Hannibal gave a slight bow of his head, conceding.  He then sighed, eyes looking inward.  “I do wish you had expressed these concerns to me earlier,” he raised his gaze to meet Will’s.  “Though I understand why you did not.”

It was just such a surreally… _normal_ thing to say.  ‘I wish you’d said something, but I get why you didn’t’— _how_ many couples, friends, families, had said that to each other in the course of their lives?  Something so placidly typical had no place in this conversation. 

Hannibal sat up a bit straighter.  “Let me rephrase my previous question.  Were the events of last night, over all, successful, in your estimation?” 

Will felt his smirk widen.  “By what measurement?” Will prompted. 

“By any measurement,” Hannibal replied easily.  There was a pause, and then he softly arched an eyebrow.  “Did you enjoy yourself?” 

Will pressed his lips together, holding back a dark grin.  “I think you have ample evidence of just how much I _enjoyed_ myself,” Will drawled, drawing his eyeline pointedly over Hannibal’s besmirched body. 

Hannibal took Will’s leering in stride, a quiet laughter dancing behind his eyes. 

“I suppose I do,” Hannibal agreed.  “Although, I do wonder” he continued, leaning back slightly with one hand braced on the bed.  He brushed a light finger over a clump of dried cum on his stomach.  “Whose is this?” He asked, glancing towards Will.  “Yours, or mine?”

Will swallowed, biting down on his tongue as he felt arousal stir in the pit of his belly.  “Yours.” 

“Mm,” Hannibal hummed, sounding somewhat dejected.  He sighed with a small shake of his head, and shot Will a contrite look.  “I must confess, while I don’t regret last night’s events, I am sorry to have missed them.  The memory of our first time together was one I was looking forward to treasuring.” 

Will wasn’t quite sure what to do with that series of statements.

“Should I…apologize?” Will asked, somewhat sardonically.  “For…’denying you your memory’?”  Because that, apparently, was the only trespass worth mentioning. 

“There’s no need,” Hannibal assured him.  His eyes slid to one side.  “But perhaps for our next coupling, I could be allowed to remain conscious.”   

Will’s poor, tired brain went off in about five different directions in response to that loaded sentence, but the thing that managed its way out of his mouth was a sharp bark of laughter followed by an incredulous:

“‘ _Coupling_?’”

“What word would you use?” Hannibal asked, unperturbed.

“Fucking,” Will replied bluntly, aware that he was baiting Hannibal with such coarse language. 

Hannibal _just_ managed to not quite wrinkle his nose.  “Crude.” 

“But, accurate,” Will retorted. 

“If you say so,” Hannibal said with a muted sigh.  Then, he turned his eyes back to Will, his look quietly inquiring.  “ _Would_ that be possible?”

Will sucked a breath in through his nose as his heart sped up just a bit.  “Are we saying there’s going to _be_ a…’second coupling’, after this?” Will asked guardedly. 

“If you wish there to be,” Hannibal answered promptly.  “Then, most assuredly, yes.”

Will felt a shiver run through him. 

“Then,” Will said carefully.  “Are you asking if I plan on drugging you again?”

“That was not all I was asking.  But, yes.”  Hannibal raised an eyebrow.  “Do you?”

Will bit his lip.  “Even if I did, I doubt I could without you noticing.”

“Deception wouldn't necessarily be required,” Hannibal submitted.  “If that was what you wanted, I would be happy to oblige.”

Will stared.  “You’d drug yourself,” he said slowly.  “Even though you don’t want to be drugged.”

“It is not my preference,” Hannibal corrected.  “Simply because I desire first-hand experience of you in that way.  But I am hardly opposed.” 

Well, that was…interesting.  Will had never thought about the possibility of having Hannibal like that again.  He wasn’t sure he even _wanted_ a reprisal of the previous night; it had been an extraordinary event, but sitting across from Hannibal now, Will found himself less and less enamored with the unconscious version.  On the other hand, he wasn’t at all sure he was ready for sex with a fully conscious and empowered Hannibal Lecter either.  He still had no concept of what that would be like, he realized, frowning, suddenly getting a disheartening ‘back to square one’ kind of feeling. 

As though he could sense his indecision, Hannibal continued.

“If you are still concerned about my potential ‘influence’ in this area,” Hannibal contended, his tone serious but untroubled.  “It should be noted that there are alternative potential solutions to that particular problem.” 

Will frowned.  “Meaning what?”

“Meaning that drugging me into senselessness is not the only way to limit my ability to control the course of our sexual encounters.”  Here, Hannibal’s soberness cracked, a twinkle of amusement glimmering in his eye.  “Seeing as that appears to be a pivotal concern of yours.”

Will felt himself blush.  “That…it…it’s not just about _control_ ,” Will protested. 

“Of course it is,” Hannibal said bluntly.  “You do not wish to be controlled by me in this area.  That is understandable.  To ensure this, it is preferable to you that you control me, rather than risk the reverse.” 

Will bit down on his tongue, seething, the phrase _goddamned psychiatrist_ running through his head. 

“That was why you chose in incapacitate me, which you did through means which left me powerless and defenseless, but also completely unaware of what was being done to me.  I don’t believe that is ultimately conducive to either of our needs.  But there are other, perhaps simpler ways to affect a similar desired outcome without robbing me of my senses.”

“Such as,” Will prompted with a slight roll of his eyes, feeling his irritation grow.

Hannibal fixed Will with a steady gaze.  His voice was even.  Pragmatic. 

“If you are concerned with what I might do, then bind me.  If you are concerned with what I might say, then gag me.  You expressed discomfort with me watching you; a simple blindfold would quickly alleviate that issue, and I would still be able to feel everything you chose to do to me.”  

Will felt his jaw drop open to hang, gaping, his mouth going suddenly dry.  His previous ire was completely forgotten and replaced by what he supposed he’d have to describe as _aroused disbelief_.  

“Y…y…y…” Will shut his mouth and his eyes, taking in a breath to steady himself before trying to speak again.  “—You would do that?”

Hannibal looked at him curiously, head tilted to one side.  “Does that surprise you?” 

 _YES, that **FUCKING SURPRISES ME**_ , Will managed to not shout out loud.  Instead he ran his tongue over his dry lips, peering intently at the man sitting on the bed across from him.  “…You,” he said slowly.  “Have a pathology built around maintaining control.  On achieving and keeping power over yourself, and others.  You would never willingly surrender that control.  Not to anyone.”

Hannibal’s dark eyes glinted.  “You’re not anyone.”

Will blinked, and then he let out a hoarse laugh.  “So, that’s it?  That…that’s all you have to say, all the explanation you’re going to give.”  He shook his head, incredulous.  “I’m not ‘Anyone’, and you’re not ‘Most People’, and…here we are.”

“And here we are.”  Hannibal agreed.  His brows drew in slightly.  “You seem determined to believe this is beyond my ability, antithetical to my nature.  And yet I have already displayed my willingness to place myself entirely at your mercy.” 

Will shifted uncomfortably. 

“I know you are fully capable of understanding me,” Hannibal went on.  “Why do you choose this blindness?”     

They looked at each other and Will swallowed thickly.  Hannibal’s continued flagrant display of last night’s activities was serving to muddle with Will’s senses.  His body had been left bruised and filthy because of what Will had done to him.  What Hannibal had _let_ Will do to him.  The thought made Will’s head dizzy and his teeth ache. 

“You’d really let me tie you up, gag you, blindfold you, and fuck you,” Will asked Hannibal, his voice hoarse, his tone challenging.

Hannibal just blinked.  “Yes.” 

Will’s eyes narrowed.  “Would you enjoy it?”

Hannibal considered the question.  “I believe I would.  In fact, I find the concept oddly exhilarating.”  He took a breath.  “You are correct, Will, in that I would never have considered submitting myself to anyone else.  But with you, there is a certain appeal.  I find myself…” He paused, eyes growing darker.  “ _Eager_.”

“Eager to surrender?” Will frowned.  “That doesn’t seem like you.”

“And yet, I have done it before.  More than you know, I think,” Hannibal replied breezily.  His eyes grew serious.  “My true surrender to you was long ago, Will, and it was not one I chose or predicted.  All the little surrenders that followed were nothing compared to that original one that was forced from me.”

Will’s frown deepened.  “’Forced’?”

Hannibal let out a sigh, small and quiet, and turned his face away.  There was a pause, and then he spoke.  His voice clear, but also somehow distant. 

“Our hearts make choices without consulting us.  None of us choose whom we will come to care for, or to yearn for.”  He lifted his eyes, and for a moment it was like Will could see right through them.  “In that sense, no act of love is ever performed with full consent.”

It was a rather dark statement. Strangely fitting, though, as far as Hannibal was concerned, and after a moment Will found his unease tempering, his face softening in the smallest of smiles as he was filled with an odd sense of lightness.  A muted dread he hadn’t fully realized he was holding seeped out of his chest and dissipated, and he suddenly felt like he could see Hannibal much more clearly than before.  What he saw sent a thrilled spark all the way from his heart to his groin.  It was like he could hear the pulsing beating of Hannibal’s heart from across the room, _see_ it, glowing, right through his chest.  Whatever doubts and apprehensions he’d had seemed all at once pale and weak against that blazing strength.

Hannibal smiled warmly through his eyes, apparently detecting Will’s shift in understanding.

“You see me now,” Hannibal said.  He seemed content—or at least, somewhere between reconciled and satisfied—with that state of affairs.  There was a hinted, unspoken ‘finally’ hanging in the air. 

“To be fair,” Will said, matching Hannibal’s affectionately mocking tone.  “You haven’t always made it easy.”

Hannibal acknowledged that point with a tilt of his head.  “It has taken me some time to accept.”  He met Will’s eyes.  “Surrender does not come easily to me.  I did resist it.  Though by the time I realized enough to try, I think it was already too late.”

Will smiled wanly.  “I could say the same thing.”              

It was a matter of perspective, he supposed, who was the captor and who the captive.  It hardly mattered now, in any case; either way, they were stuck with each other.      

Will felt his shoulders ease, his back settling into the upholstery of the chair behind him.  They had walked so many miles, crossed so much hostile territory to arrive here.  It would be almost unappreciative not to revel in where they found themselves. 

He finally allowed himself to look freely over Hannibal’s form for the first time since he’d woken, his eyes wandering over the man’s naked body with libertine indulgence.  His gaze was obvious and deliberately lewd, and Hannibal shifted very slightly under its intensity, which Will observed with no small amount of satisfaction. 

“You planning to put some clothes on,” Will asked dryly.  “Maybe take a shower?” 

“What for?” Hannibal replied with aplomb.  He leaned back, bracing both hands behind him on the bed, and crossed his legs at the ankles, appearing utterly casual and at ease. 

Will laughed—at himself, at Hannibal, at the two of them together.  At the infinite strangeness of the universe.  Shaking his head, he let out a defeated sigh. 

“I’m not really sure what the procedure is, here,” Will said blithely.

“There is no precedent for us, Will, no established procedure.  I’m afraid we will have to make due.”  Hannibal’s tone was laced with amusement, though it wasn’t entirely unsympathetic.  Will glared at him, but the look lacked bite.  Even if, looking back, it was hard not to see Hannibal’s discrete hand molding the path of their discussion, Will was having trouble resenting him for it at the moment.

“Did you _really_ think I might be punishing you?” Will asked skeptically, as he picked over their conversation in his mind. 

Hannibal gave a little shrug.  “It was within the realm of possibility.  You did _spank_ me after all,” he added, with a twitch of an eyebrow.

This time Will couldn’t hold back a loud snort as he descended into giggles. 

“Jesus,” Will almost wheezed.  “I can’t believe I just heard the word ‘spank’ come out of your mouth.”  Hannibal just arched his brow higher and Will caught a new fresh wave snickers.  Putting a hand to his mouth, he fought to smother his laughter.  “No, uh,” he said, sniggering again.  “That wasn’t, um… _punitive_.”  He glanced over to Hannibal, his chortling finally under control.  “That was just fun.” 

Hannibal’s brow quirked higher in a sort of ‘Oh, really?’ gesture, and Will shrugged. 

“You have a nice ass,” he said by way of explanation, taking an attitude of provocative dismissiveness.  “It looks good in _red_.” 

Hannibal’s eyes flickered, and Will caught the subtle motion of his thighs clenching. 

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal said, assuming a tone of casual unaffectedness.  “How did it feel to have me so entirely helpless?  To know you could do anything to me, and I would be unable to stop you?” 

Will’s groin tightened, and he let himself shift in his chair, allowing Hannibal to see how his words affected him.  “Powerful,” he said, giving the expected, obvious answer.  He regarded Hannibal heatedly from under hooded eyes.  “Exhilarating.  Deeply, and profoundly erotic.  Seeing your body like that, so soft and pliant and...”  He smirked.  “ _Fuckable_.”  Taking a breath, Will let his eyes flutter shut, remembering.  “It was the most arousing experience of my life.” 

Eyes still closed, Will heard a faint, rumbling sigh, and smiled.  Opening his eyes, he fixed them on Hannibal. 

“Tell me, _Hannibal_ ,” Will asked back challengingly.  “How did it feel to wake up naked, aching, and covered in cum?”  Will’s lip quirked.  “Covered in cum is a _very_ good look for you, by the way.”     

The corner of Hannibal’s eye twitched, barely noticeable, and he looked back at Will, not answering.  Finally, he inhaled, letting the breath out again unhurriedly, and replied. 

“Like I had been claimed.” 

Will exhaled, blowing our air through his nostrils as heat tore through his body.  He didn’t say anything though; it wasn’t hard to discern the kind of ‘Truth of Dare’ game they’d fallen into, and it was Hannibal’s turn. 

Hannibal lifted his chin, watching Will closely. 

“Of all the acts you indulged in while I was in my unconscious state,” Hannibal said, each word clear and precisely chosen.  “Which brought you the most pleasure?”

Will froze.  Then, with a gentle sigh, he closed his eyes.  He replayed the events in his mind, gliding through them with his near perfect recollection.  He considered Hannibal’s question, weighing and assessing carefully before opening his eyes again.  He looked over at Hannibal, an answer ready on his lips, but he didn’t speak it.  Because this was a game now. 

And Will liked to win. 

“Why don’t I show you.”   

Will’s voice was dark and gravelly when he spoke, dripping with promise and just a hint of menace.  It was a dare, a gauntlet thrown at Hannibal’s feet.  A test, maybe, to see if Hannibal would live up to his earlier promises.  

Hannibal blinked, this sudden turn clearly unexpected. 

“You said you were sorry to have missed the events of last night,” Will pointed out.  “Maybe I can give you a taste.” 

After a pause, Hannibal inclined his head.  “Very well.” Hannibal said easily, like he was agreeing on a choice of wine at dinner.  “And what morsel of your revel will we be reenacting?” 

“Ah, ah,” Will said, wagging a finger.  “First—” He fixed Hannibal with a warning look.  “If we’re going to do this, then you’ll have to do _exactly_ as I say,” Will expounded dryly.  “And, otherwise, lay perfectly and completely still.”  He twitched an eyebrow.  “For accuracy.”

Hannibal regarded him silently.  The moment stretched, and then he gave one, single, clear nod.  His lips parted, and he took in a muted breath before speaking.  “What would you have me do?” 

If Will hadn’t been rock hard already, that probably would have done it.  Hannibal, Will noted, was half hard himself, resting plumply against his thigh.  Will stood, pushing up off the arms of the chair.  He crossed to the bed, passing where Hannibal was sitting on his way.  He picked up the same pillow he’d used before and tossed squarely in the center of the bed.  Hannibal watched his movements curiously, then turned his gaze up to meet Will’s as Will looked down to meet his. 

“Lie down on your stomach with that under your hips,” he said with a nod toward the pillow.  Then he waited. 

Hannibal sat, unmoving.  He continued to look up at Will, their eyes meeting evenly, while he sat frozen on the edge of the mattress.  Every muscle seemed to be suspended, held in a single moment.  He almost appeared not to be breathing. 

Then, like a rope snapping, his neck turned, breaking their eye contact as he twisted away from Will in a motion that brought his legs smoothly onto the bed under him.  Agile and efficient, Hannibal placed himself in position without a word, not even sparing a glance in Will’s direction.  Will supposed he shouldn’t be surprised Hannibal would manage to make even this appear haughty and somewhat graceful. 

Having done as Will bade him, Hannibal now lay across his front, the pillow properly angling his hips upward, and he met Will’s eyes again in a way that said, ‘So, there.  What now?’  He was pushed up on his elbows, head held high over his squared shoulders, looking for all the world like he was waiting for his masseuse to arrive.  It made Will smile, though maybe a little meanly, and he had to conclude that having Hannibal awake and aware was, indeed, quite a bit more fun—even if it took a good deal more effort and concentration. 

Coolly, Will placed one knee on the bed, set a hand to the back of Hannibal’s neck, and pushed.  There was a moment of resistance, and then Hannibal slowly lowered himself to the bed, letting his face sink into the bedding under him.  Smiling with warm amusement, Will allowed himself to run his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Hannibal’s neck before gently turning Hannibal head to one side.  He arranged Hannibal arms as well, bending them at the elbow beside his shoulders and curling Hannibal’s fingers softly into his palms.  As a final touch, he brushed some of Hannibal’s hair so it fell loosely over his face. 

His picture complete, he stood up again, and looked down from the side of the bed.  He could see Hannibal’s eyes peeking out him, watching.  He could tell Hannibal close them, he supposed, but instead he let Hannibal look as he began to undo the top button of his shirt.

“I enjoyed,” Will narrated as he went about disrobing, dropping each article carelessly on the floor.  “ _Everything_ I did last night.  Everything.  From the very first moment to the last.  Every touch.  Every action.  Even just looking at you.  I did _so_ _many_ dirty, filthy things to you, Hannibal, and I relished every one.” 

Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered, muscles shifting as they clenched under his skin.  Will smirked, dropping his pants around his ankles.  He stepped out of them and kicked them away, now left only in his underwear. 

“But,” Will continued, as he drew his boxers down his legs and tossed them aside.  He stood naked, his erection jutting out, hip cocked to one side, his posture overtly sexual and utterly unabashed. 

“I don’t think _anything_ compared to fucking that tight, hot ass of yours.” 

A restrained shiver ran down Hannibal’s spine, his fingers twitching against the bed.  It was so starkly different, how this body lay here now compared to before.  It was superficially the same—near complete stillness, punctuated by infinitesimal motions—but the base material of the structure had been changed.  In place of passivity, there was active resolve; instead of languid unawareness, every inch of Hannibal’s body seemed peaked to pick up on any minute grain of sensory input; rather than the static beauty of a deftly made work of art—which may mimic animate life but was ultimately lacking any vitality of will—the very air around Hannibal now appeared to quiver with golden intensity, each muscle under his skin ready to respond in a moment to the commands of Hannibal’s dangerously sharp mind and intelligent instinct.

Plucking the bottle of lube from the nightstand, Will rounded the bed, coming to stand behind Hannibal’s prone form.  Hannibal’s whole body seemed to expand and contract with each deliberate breath.  His posture was carefully controlled, but not rigid—he was studiously relaxed in the way he held precisely to his assigned position.  It reminded Will of a life model for a drawing class—a very good one—and he wondered if Hannibal, eminent sketcher that he was, had drawn the same comparison and was channeling it purposefully. 

Hannibal’s legs were gently parted, though it wasn’t the loose splaying of the night before.  Will put a hand to the back of Hannibal’s knee and pushed it outward, bending it and bringing the thigh up and to the side.  He planted his right knee on the bed and used it to shove Hannibal’s other leg out of the way so he could set himself directly behind Hannibal’s waiting ass.  Not hesitating, and with a cool and untroubled authority he wasn’t entirely sure he felt, he pumped a healthy helping of lubricant onto his fingers and then grabbed a handful of Hannibal’s left butt-cheek.  There was a slight flinch from the muscle under his hand, and Will spared a moment to glance toward Hannibal’s half-obscured face.  There was no further response, and so Will went on and pulled the cheek outward to expose Hannibal’s puckered hole. 

It presented quite a different sight than the one that had greeted Will the first time he’d gazed upon Hannibal this way.  Before, Hannibal had already been thoroughly finger fucked and his hole had glistened with dripping lube.  Now, his crack and pucker were caked with dried cum, and underneath that the tightly closed ring of muscle was tinged a deep pink and slightly swollen.  It looked raw and somewhat painful, and the splotches of cum added a flavor of coarse filth to the overall indecency. 

He touched one slick finger lightly to the reddened rim of Hannibal’s hole, and watched as it clenched reactively, recoiling. 

“Are you sore?” Will asked, his tone indifferent. 

There was a weighted pause.  “Yes,” Hannibal responded, head tilting very slighting over his shoulder.  “But it's hardly intolerable.”

Will smirked.  “Don’t worry,” he said, smugly mocking.  “I wasn’t planning on stopping.  I just like the idea of fucking you when you’re already aching, and I wanted to hear you say it.”  With that, he wriggled his index finger inside down to the third knuckle.  The passage was tight, and he heard a faint grunt from Hannibal as he pushed through. 

“Do you enjoy my discomfort?” Hannibal asked, managing to sound only a little breathy. 

Will watched his finger slide in and out of Hannibal’s hole, the flicked his eyes up over the man’s shoulder.  “Not in any spiteful way,” Will assured him.  “I just like seeing you _squirm_.  And I like the idea of you really—” He shoved in a second finger, probably a bit too soon, grinning as Hannibal’s spine stiffened.  “— _feeling_ what I’m doing.  That _is_ what you wanted, wasn’t it?  To feel everything I decided to do to you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hannibal breathed, a note of dark neediness bleeding in his voice. 

“I know you could block it out if you wanted,” Will acknowledged.  “I saw you take a bullet and barely bat an eye.  But I’d rather you didn’t, and I think you’d prefer it that way too.”

“Mm,” Hannibal confirmed.  “Though I’m not as convinced as you that I could retreat from this so easily.”  There was a pregnant pause.  “I’ve always felt your lightest touch more keenly than those from any other.” 

“You flatterer, you,” Will teased, stretching his fingers as wide as they would go.  The inner walls of Hannibal’s entrance pushed back against him, and he chuckled.  “You should relax, you know.  This would go easier.”  He smiled to himself.  “You should have seen how easily you opened for me the first time,” he went on, sucking in a breath as the memory sparked a fresh wave of arousal.  “ _You bent like clay_.” 

Hannibal didn’t answer, but Will could hear the raspy sounds of his breathing, each inhale and exhalation carefully controlled. 

“Do you know what made fucking you that first time such a… _sublimely_ pleasurable experience?”  Will asked conversationally.  “It wasn’t just the feeling of being buried inside you, though that was…” He chuckled.  “ _Exquisite_.  No.  No, it was how… _thoroughly_ and _completely_ I sought out that pleasure.  I was selfishly indulgent in a way I had never been with anyone else.”

He ran his left hand up and over Hannibal buttock to the small of his back, sitting up on his knees.  He rubbed circles there, over the curve in Hannibal’s spine, affectionate and possessive, and then pressed down, forcing it into a deeper bend. 

“I _took_ my pleasure in you, without a single thought beyond my own need, and you had no choice but to let me.  What you wanted didn’t matter—and if you enjoyed it, if it _hurt_ …” 

He added a third finger with a vicious twist, feeling Hannibal’s spine twitch and arc slightly under his hand.

“…I didn’t care.  Because you were just a _thing_ for me to _use_.” 

Will let out a slow breath, which ended in a kind of breathless laugh.  He set his eyes on the back of Hannibal’s head and what he could see of his face over his shoulder.  It was an obstructed view, but he could tell Hannibal’s eyes were open and he wondered what Hannibal was looking at.  Whether he was peering back at Will from the corner of his eye. 

“You’re one of the most dangerous people in the world, Hannibal,” Will stated musingly.  Hannibal’s shoulders appeared to flex minutely at his words, as if called to reflect the truth of them.  “The most brilliant and _diabolical_ mind I’ve ever encountered.”  He pitched his voice lower. 

“And I made you into a _hole_ for my _cock_.”

Hannibal stopped breathing.  He grew even more profoundly still, holding the air inside his lungs.

“… _This_ is my design,” Will murmured sardonically, and pulled his fingers from Hannibal’s ass. 

Hannibal seemed to shudder, and released a shaky breath through parted lips. 

Will coated his cock with lube, then wiped his hand on the bed.  Meticulously, he placed each finger over a corresponding purplish bruise on Hannibal’s hips, and aligned the tip of his cock with Hannibal’s despoiled hole.  He closed his eyes, just breathing for a moment, taking himself back to the memory of that first time, to that state of greedy, hedonistic lust. 

He slammed inside, yanking Hannibal’s ass back against his hips as he speared him, and there was a choked sound coming from somewhere but that didn’t matter, all that mattered was the tight, slick heat around his cock and that base, impulsive need to _thrust_.  He paused for less than a breath before sliding back and slamming in again, and then again, and again.  The body under him pulsed and flexed, arching into him with every forward motion.  There were panting noises echoing through the room—two distinctive, overlapping breathes palpitating in and out of time with each other.

A sharp bang startled him, bringing Will partially out of his revelry.  He opened his eyes and, looking around quickly, saw that Hannibal’s right leg had kicked out behind him, slamming the heel of his foot hard against the bed post, his toes curling and scraping against the bedding under them.  With a breathy smile, Will turned back to the man lying under him. 

“Try to lie still,” Will chided mildly.  “I wouldn’t want to break your bed.  It’s probably an antique.” 

There was a low, snarling whine in response, and Will saw that Hannibal’s hands were fisted tightly into the covers.  Will tugged him more firmly onto his cock and was rewarded with a sharp groan. 

“God, you feel good,” Will muttered under his breath.  “So fucking tight.  So fucking hot.”  He knew he was babbling, half-delirious with sex, and that he probably sounded like a bad porno, but he couldn’t be bothered to care, let alone stop.  “Who knew Hannibal Lecter had such a sweet _fucking_ hole.”

There was a sharp hiss, and then a hushed, drawn out wail from the man in question, which Will only barely managed to recognize as his own name.

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal whimpered again, the single syllable broken up into a series of shuddering sounds. 

“Now, be good,” Will said, feeling a bit dizzy.  “And lie still.  Until I’m _finished_.”  He punctuated the last word, digging his fingers into the bruises on Hannibal’s hips, and felt Hannibal buck underneath him, jerking sharply up into Will’s cock.  There was a long series of low mutterings, raspy and indistinct, which Will took a moment to identify as words, and another moment to discern that they were definitely not in English. 

“You better not be cussing me out in whatever language you’re speaking,” Will warned, though he was far too amused and high off endorphins to really mind. 

Hannibal turned and glared over his shoulder.  “ _Velnio išpera.”_

Will just lifted a bemused eyebrow, and then _rolled_ his hips into Hannibal’s ass. 

Hannibal’s eyes snapped shut, clenching his teeth with a pained moan.  His hair was mussed, his face ragged.  Beads of sweat slid down his neck to his throat and glistened along the curves of his shoulder-blades.  He looked ready to break apart, to rend himself into gruesome, bloody pieces, and Will was torn between the impulse to hold him together, or help with the shattering.

Flashing images of teacups and fallen hatchlings blinked across his brain.    

“What does it feel like?”

Hannibal’s eyes opened at Will’s words, turning to stare incredulously over his shoulder. 

“Well, if you’re not going to lie still…” Will scolded.  “Answer the question.” 

Hannibal let out a puffing breath, eyes closing again briefly, in frustration or concentration, Will wasn’t quite sure. 

“… _Full_.”  He said finally, like it was taking all his effort to form the word.  “ _Hot_.”  He shut his eyes tight, lips trembling.  “H…” He stopped, swallowing thickly.  “ _Hurts_.  But…” There was a deep groan from the back of Hannibal’s throat.  It reverberated all through his body, and Will could feel it vibrating around his cock.  _“Good._ Good, _Dieve_ , so good. _”_  

His voice sounded cracked, his accent thick to the point the words were barely intelligible.  Will was struck into stunned silence, because _God_ he’d just reduced Hannibal fucking Lecter to monosyllables.  

With a growl, Will shoved Hannibal down into the mattress and fucked into him in a renewed frenzy of brutal, rapid thrusts.  It was uneven and artless, but it was also fast and deep that was all that mattered. 

At the first snap of Will’s hips Hannibal’s head fell forward, neck and shoulders hunching as he let out a wordless cry that still managed to sound vaguely foreign.  As Will continued to fuck him, his fingers tore blindly at the bedclothes, dragging the top cover in his fists till the edges were pulled from the sides of the mattress.  Will drove into him over and over, and Hannibal began undulating his hips, alternately pushing back onto Will’s cock, and then grinding his hips down and forward.  _Humping_ _the_ _pillow_ , Will realized dazedly. 

“Look at you, you mangy bitch,” he heard himself say, a hint of Louisiana bleeding into the sounds. 

Hannibal shuddered under him, sucking in a gasping, choked breath. 

“You look so good on my cock, I could take a God damned picture,” Will finished, pausing to appreciate the sight of his hard shaft sticking partway out of Hannibal’s hole as it slid out to prepare for another thrust in.         

A surge of something tore through him suddenly, and as he plunged in again his right hand came up and laid a brutal _smack_ to the underside of Hannibal’s ass.  The sound of it cracked through the air and Hannibal clenched tight around him, jerking forward at the impact.  Will groaned at the sensation of Hannibal’s hot inner walls squeezing in around him, and so he hit him again, harder this time.  The result was even better. 

Bracing himself on Hannibal’s back, he used his other hand to lay punishing blows to the ass rammed onto his cock, rocking shallowly into the tightened passage. 

Caught his fervor, is was a while before Will became aware of a soft, constant, whimpering sound.  Breaking through his frenzy, he looked up and found Hannibal with his forehead pressed in to the bed, persistent, uninterrupted shivers running through his shoulders. 

A thread of pity finally managed to worm its way in through Will’s haze of lust, and, contrite, he stroked a soothing hand over Hannibal’s abused ass.  In a gesture of apology, he then slipped that hand under Hannibal’s thigh and grabbed the neglected cock hanging below. 

At his first, lightest touch, Hannibal went off like a landmine.  Will was not prepared, and he nearly choked as his cock was caught in the vice like grip of Hannibal’s passage as it spasmed violently around him. 

Hannibal’s orgasm tore through his body in a series of relentless shuddering waves, but with only a single startled cry—which may, in fact, have been Will’s—while Will lay across his back, gripping Hannibal erupting cock for dear life.  It wasn’t long until his own orgasm broke through, and he dragged his teeth across the skin of Hannibal’s back, spilling gracelessly into his trembling ass. 

Will didn’t know how long he lay there, sprawled on top of Hannibal like an exhausted—but very happy—puppy, but eventually he did coax his limbs into motion.  He untangled himself from Hannibal’s still slightly quivering body, his cock slipping free of Hannibal’s hole as he sat back on his heels.  He looked dumbly at his hand, streaked with Hannibal’s still warm spunk, and absently rubbed the milky substance between his fingers. 

He glanced down at Hannibal’s used hole, now flaring and contracting around nothing as Will’s fluids dribbled out.  There was still a faint tremor to Hannibal’s body, the slightest vibration, just strong enough to disturb the air around it.  Other than that, he remained entirely unmoving. 

Flexing his cum covered hand, Will used his other one to pull at Hannibal’s hip until Hannibal got the message and rolled onto his back, pulling his knees under him and then stretching them out again with Will still between them.  The pillow was brushed to one side.  It and Hannibal’s stomach were both smeared anew with fresh cum. 

Hannibal’s expression was blank; there was only a faint dazed glow in his eyes to betray any kind of emotion.  But, his still cum-stained face was now also marked by the pale glimmer of fresh tears. 

Will had a sudden wild impulse to run to a computer and flood the message boards of TattleCrime with the declaration of ‘HANNIBAL LECTER CRIES DURING SEX’.  Although, it was very possible this was a one time event.  In which case, it would really be more accurate to say, “HANNIBAL LECTER CRIED DURING SEX WITH _ME_ _IN PARTICULAR_ ,” which was honestly a much more heady concept when Will thought about it. 

Hannibal was staring straight upward, not meeting Will’s eyes.  After a moment, he lifted a hand and carefully wiped the damning traces from his cheeks, swallowing with a slight clench to his jaw. 

Something in the motion stabbed through Will’s chest, and he surged forward, bounding up Hannibal’s body to straddle his torso, because quite suddenly he’d realized something very important. 

He hadn’t kissed Hannibal yet. 

Well, he _had_ , technically, but not really, not in a way that mattered.  Not when he was _awake_. 

Frantically, he cupped Hannibal’s face with both hands, not remembering until it was too late that his right hand still had Hannibal’s cum stuck to it, and before Hannibal could do anything but blink up at him, he swooped down and mashed their lips together, holding Hannibal face tightly as though to keep him from getting away.

Everything seemed to stop, the air freezing around them as Hannibal’s lips lay unmovingly under his. 

And then, all at once, Hannibal’s lips pushed back.

He surged upwards, wrapping his arms around Will’s back to keep him held tightly to his chest as he rose up like a shark from the water tasting blood.  Will pulled Hannibal toward him, angling the man’s face upwards with his hands to keep their lips locked tight as Hannibal came to sit up on the bed.  Will held himself up on his knees while straddling Hannibal’s thighs, which gave him the height advantage, while Hannibal trapped his body surely in his coiled arms. 

They opened their mouths together, moving as one, simply breathing each other in for a moment before crashing together again.  They sucked at each other’s lips hungrily, mouths twisting together in a way that was both urgent and savage.  There were still flakes of cum scattered across Hannibal’s mouth which marred the taste, but it seemed right to Will in a way that their first kiss should be somehow…bitter. 

Will was the first to slip his tongue between their lips and into Hannibal’s mouth, plunging deep and ruthless into its scorching wetness.  Hannibal groaned, and latched on to suck eagerly on the invading appendage.  Will could feel the sound of the groan reverberating through Hannibal’s chest, and moaned in response. 

After a while, Will began to grow desperate for air and started to pull back.  Hannibal resisted, sucking so hard on his tongue Will thought he might rip it from his head and swallow it.  Finally, Will managed to extract himself, and they sprung apart from each other, chests heaving and moistened lips parted.  Hannibal’s mouth looked almost bruised, and Will could see his tongue twitching longingly behind his teeth as he gazed with undisguised thirst at Will’s mouth. 

Decisively, Will’s right hand took a strict hold of Hannibal jaw, digging his fingers in and holding him in place.  His other hand reached around to brace itself against the base of Hannibal’s skull.  Held in this makeshift vice, Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered, and he then seemed to quiet somewhat.  His arms around Will loosened, hands coming to rest gently at the small of Will’s back. 

Will looked over the details of Hannibal’s face, marking out a mental map of it in his mind.  Hannibal’s eyes stared intently up at him, so bright in their blackness Will thought they might blind him. 

He lowered his gaze to Hannibal’s parted lips—the slices of flesh still wet and flushed and panting.  In a kind of removed stupor, Will slid his thumb from Hannibal’s jaw to his mouth, dragging coarsely over his lips. 

“Do you remember me doing this to you?” Will asked mutedly. 

Hannibal’s eyes flickered.  He shook his head.

“Hm.” Will gave a little half shrug.  “You weren’t fully under yet; I thought maybe you might.” 

Hannibal just kept watching him, silent.  Will slipped his thumb between Hannibal’s teeth, and slowly pressed inside.  At the deepest point, he held it there, resting against the curve of Hannibal’s tongue.  There was a beat, and then Hannibal’s cheeks hollowed.  He sucked tightly on the flesh of Will’s thumb, tongue pulsing hot and heavy around the digit.  

Will sighed.  A bittersweet lump formed in the hollow of his throat. 

He dragged his thumb from Hannibal’s mouth, pulling down on the bottom lip as he went, and then rested his palm against Hannibal’s cheek.  Hannibal placed his own hand over Will’s and turned his head, pressing his lips to the center of Will’s open hand.  Then, he opened his mouth and began cleaning the last bits of his cum that still clung there, licking and sucking until the skin was left clean. 

“How do you taste?” Will asked with a soft, slightly wicked smile.

“Not as good as you, I’d imagine,” Hannibal replied, tossing a coquettish glance from the corner of his eye. 

Will gave a puff of laughter, and shook his head wryly.  “I should really be more wary of sticking my dick inside the mouth of someone who regularly _eats human flesh_ , but honestly, I’m just incredibly turned on by the idea.” 

Hannibal made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat.  “As though I’d ever wish to maim you in that way—” He shot Will a dark glance, eyes sizzling.  “—after what you just did to me.” 

His chocolate eyes glinted merrily, and Will felt a pleased shiver run up his spine.  He threaded his newly cleaned hand through Hannibal’s hair, and let out a contented sigh. 

“This is probably not _exactly_ the most ideal moment I could have chosen to ask this question, but…have you ever done that before?” Will asked gingerly.  “I...I mean, been with a man.  Like that.  Before.”  Will felt his face heating, embarrassed mostly that he was only thinking to ask this after fucking the man twice. 

Hannibal looked thoughtful.  “I have.  But not, I'll admit, in quite some time.  I've had more recent experience with a woman _'l_ _ike that'_ as you so quaintly put it, but even that was years ago now."  He shot Will a look, full of jocularity.  "I did spend three years incarcerated, after all.  More than enough time for such an act to feel new again."     

Will frowned, taking that in.  'Feel new again' was probably a polite way of saying that his ass felt damn near torn apart after how rough Will had been with him.  Then the rest of what he'd said got through to Will's brain and he blinked, running the phrasing and context over in his mind.    

“'Experience with a woman like that', what does that mean?"  Hannibal merely lifted a brow.  "You mean you’ve…”  He trailed off, kind of hoping Hannibal would fill in the rest.  No such luck.  “Does that mean...you’ve let a woman fuck you with a strap-on.  Is that what you’re telling me?” 

There was a brief pause.  “Yes.” 

Will just gaped.  Well, that was…a picture, to be sure.  Abruptly, an alarming thought occurred to him because _'m_ _ore recent_ ' had been the other part of that sentence.  “Wait.  D…do I _know_ any of the women you’ve done that with?” He asked with some dread. 

There was a beat, and then Hannibal’s eyes slid sleekly to one side.  Will shut his own eyes with a groan. 

“Bedelia?” He asked tightly after a moment, stomach souring. 

Hannibal sniffed lightly.  “No; that was never quite the nature of our relationship.” 

Will grunted, feeling relieved.  Until he realized…

“… _Alana_?” 

Hannibal looked at him, the gave a little shrug, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  The look on Will’s face must have been quite amusing, because Hannibal’s smile widened. 

“…Who the _hell_ even brought an idea like that up?” Will asked disbelievingly. 

“I suggested it,” Hannibal explained neatly.  “Because I knew it was something that interested her.  It was a way of displaying the appearance of intimacy, and vulnerability.” 

Will bit down on the side of tongue.  Chuckling darkly, a sad smile pulled tightly at his lips.  “And is that what you’re doing now?” he asked faintly.  “Making a ‘display’ of intimacy?  The... _appearance_ of vulnerability?” 

Hannibal’s eyes and face went abruptly blank.  Expression impenetrable, there was suddenly not a single trace of emotion.  And somehow, _that_ was exactly how Will knew whatever Hannibal was about to say would be true.

“No.” 

Will let out a shaky breath he hadn’t know he was holding.  That bittersweet lump was back in his throat, and he brushed a stray strand of hair from Hannibal’s face.

“You know,” he said, speaking stiffly.  “A good part of why I…did what I did,” Will admitted.  “Was that I couldn’t…picture this.”  He looked down at Hannibal staring up at him, and all of a sudden tears prickled behind his eyes.  “I didn’t think you’d ever…”  Will shook his head.  “… _Let_ me see you like this,” he said at last, very quietly.  “I couldn’t see you being messy or needy or uncontrolled…not unless you were forced to be.”  His voice cracked a little on the word ‘forced.’  He let out a bitter puff of laughter, and then, meeting Hannibal’s eyes, pressed his forehead to his with a watery smile.  “That was a… _catastrophic_ failure of imagination, on my part.” 

He felt it then, that pang of regret he’d been eluding, like an arrow to the heart, sorrowful guilt spilling out around the wound like blood.  Because—he could have asked for this.  He realized that now.  All he’d had to do was ask, and Hannibal would have given it to him.  And knowing that made his stomach twist into knots like he’d swallowed poison. 

He pressed his lips together and blinked back tears. 

“I’m s—“

“Don’t.” 

Hannibal cut him off sharply, a hard edge on his tongue and a restrained fury behind his eyes.  Then, his eyes softened.   His next word gentle, and very slightly broken.

“Please.”

Hannibal let out a sigh then, reaching up a hand to lay his palm to the side of Will’s face, the gesture so painfully, achingly familiar.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words from you.” 

It could have been an ultimatum, or a command, but instead it was said plaintively.  Like he was begging.

Will sighed, nodding, because he certainly couldn’t deny Hannibal now.  Still, he couldn’t shake the dull ache in his chest.  Shoulders hunched, he peered out at Hannibal.  His voice was a whisper when he spoke, his eyes somber and contrite. 

“I could’ve asked.”  

The acknowledgement was as close to an apology as Hannibal would allow him, though it didn’t feel like enough.

Hannibal tilted his head, regarding him with a patient warmth from under softly hooded eyes.    

“But,” said the Cannibal. “Isn’t it so much more interesting that you didn’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bottom!Hannibal Day :-D I spent a little more time editing this chapter, so hopefully it has fewer typos than the first (ugh, I really should go back and fix chapter one, I can't stand all the mistakes I made, lol), so I'm pretty pleased with it, and I hope it reads well. I'm so excited to finally be a more active part of this amazing fandom!
> 
> As always, please leave a comment for any reason, including letting me know something I should address in tags or notes, or if there's any questions or anything. Or hit me up on tumblr where I'm known as @crisisoninfinitefandoms :-)
> 
> Just a quick update note: I wanted to give much thanks to @every-bubble from tumblr for helping me come up with a better Lithuanian insult. They assure me that paired together, "velnio išpera" has the right "damn you, you Devil's bastard for making me feel things" connotation :-P


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